Tweetle Tweet Fiddle

Born in the year of 1969 at the Woodstock Festival during the "oooooohhhmm" portion of the meditational ceremonies. While being breastfed by several different new gypsy mothers who had babies. Young tweetle tweet began to freakout..wig..trip. Yes, Tweet had been puddled by nipple infection--you know---LSD; ACID MAN! Tweet suddenly began to cough and chirp and sprout feathers under his tiny arms. Just at that moment an announcement was made over the P.A. system. "Attention. testing one, two, three, Hey man; don't eat the brown acid. It's bad! I repeat, the brown acid is BAD MAN". One of the gypsy mothers began to cackle and foam at the mouth. She died on the spot. She had eaten the bad acid which had been accidentally mixed with an experimental serum concoction from bird droppings of Dodo birds. Tweets mother was so freaked out that she jumped into her volkswagon van and sped away. She took off so fast in fact that she forgot the locket that had been violently stripped from her neck by little Tweet as he morphed. Nobody knows what happened to Tweets mother Leona Lickskillet. The locket contained a small photo of a young man closely resembling Dumplin' Fiddle, Tweets older brother and, most likely, father. Tweet curled into a fetal position and began to cry. He cryed a song as birds often do, which caught the ear of a buzzard that was swooping down to feast on the already festering brown acid taking, bereast feeding, gypsy lady. The hungry buzzard distracted by the chirping of young Tweet hovered over the babies naked feathered body. The buzzard cawed. Tweet cheered "ma ma". The buzzard grasped Tweets yellow feathered hair and flew away with him. But the buzzard was old and stricken with arthritus of the claws which caused him to drop poor Tweetle Tweet on the front door step of an old shack in the wet swamp lands of Alabama. Tweet was found by Mama Fiddle who instantly fell in love with young Tweetle and took him immediatly into her arms. Tweet spent his teen years retaliating against little pussy cats that thought he would make a tasty treat. Tweetle loved to pull their whiskers tight and pluck out a new tune. He plucked them neat and it sounded sweet along with his beak that sang Tweetle Tweet, Tweetle Tweet, Tweetle, Tweet Tweet.